The Professor and the Gypsies 3

The four of them walk away down the alley, laughing and shouting their final humiliations at the professor:

"Enjoy your dinner, princess!"

"See if that teaches you not to stick your nose in where it doesn't belong!"

"And remember, we'll be here whenever you want to do it again, faggot!"

The professor is left alone, lying on the cold alley floor, his body trembling and his face unrecognizable from the filth. The effect of the speed still has his pupils dilated and his heart racing.

He tries to get up, but his legs give out. Every movement makes him feel like the dry shit is cracking on his skin, and the liquid remnants are dripping down his neck. The smell is so intense that he has to breathe through his mouth, which makes him constantly taste the remains of his "dinner".

He crawls as best he can until he can lean against the wall, leaving trails on the floor. As he slowly gets up, he thinks about what just happened. He can't believe he obeyed every order without hesitation, that he became the personal toilet of four straight guys who despise him.

His cock gets hard again just thinking about the humiliations. The taste of sweaty feet, dirty nails, hot shit falling directly onto his tongue, and piss mixing it all together...

He walks slowly towards his house, with his clothes stained and sticky, feeling like some of the remains are drying between his teeth. Every step reminds him of how degraded he's become, what he's turned into: the filthy pet of four straight guys who don't even consider him a person.

But he knows he'll be back. He knows it with absolute certainty. Because for the first time in his life, he's found his true place: being the dirty toy of straight guys who use and despise him as he deserves.

When he arrives at his house, the professor looks at himself in the hallway mirror and barely recognizes himself. His face is a mask of dry filth, with brown crusts mixed with saliva and piss. His hair is stuck to his forehead with a repulsive mixture.

His hands tremble as he touches his face, feeling the rough texture of the dry remains. Instead of going straight to the shower, he stands there, masturbating while looking at himself in the mirror, remembering each humiliation.

"I'm their personal toilet" he repeats in a low voice as he comes onto his own reflected image. The semen mixes with the filth on his face, creating an even more repulsive combination.

That night, he doesn't shower. He goes to bed just as he is, with the clean sheets getting stained as they come into contact with his dirty body. Throughout the night, he dreams of the four guys, their sweaty feet, their hot shit...

The next morning, he wakes up with his face stuck to the pillow. He has to tear it off, leaving brown stains on the white fabric. He touches where the remains were driest and feels like his skin is flaking off.

He masturbates ag...